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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

World's Best

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: Not every day is easy. Frankie makes it better.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.2k~

Warnings/tags: smut, vague-ish descriptions of depression/mental health, hurt/comfort, fluff

Notes: Do y'all ever get into a funk and then attempt to write yourself out of one? Well, this is the v self-indulgent product of said instance heh. I have tagged a random assortment of potentionally interested people but obvi no pressure? idk? :) Sending so much love and well wishes to you guys. x

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

A sea of knotted sheets spans between you—as tangled as your legs—too tired, too leaden to unweave. The fan rotates in the corner, blowing stale air your way every few clicks. You dangle a foot off the bed, skin prickling as the weak breeze sweeps over you and a bead of sweat licks from your knee to slope down your calf. Morning sun leaks through the window— the finch perched on the tree just outside it chirping once, twice, before flitting off.

You’ve been reading the Sunday paper for a solid twenty minutes—which, in all honesty, is an overstatement; you started and quickly abandoned the Sudoku after a measly ten, and you’ve been staring at the same sentence in the local section for the other half, blinklessly hovering over the fine print.

You’re not here today. Not all of you.

There’s this sinking feeling, hollowing you out and unmaking you. It’s as if something unseeable is oozing over you - dripping - something treacle, something thick. You’re far away from yourself—far from the cornflower blue walls and the framed photos hanging on them—the happy faces in the pictures smiling back at you— far from the plants basking in the tines of filtered light by the sill, far from the body lying beside you.

You’re not always this way. Not every day drags like an inky smear, your mind meandering sluggishly in circles, holding you hostage in a prison of your own making; but you can’t say it’s foreign to you either. It’s old, familiar—like that sweater in your closet you’ve had for centuries and rarely wear, but can’t bring yourself to get rid of. You know it well, this slog—you have unwillingly memorized it’s sodden intricacies, and today you feel it. You feel every single one of your days—each grey hour— weighing heavy on your very bones.

heavy heavy

heavier, still.

If you’re not careful, you’ll sink straight through the mattress. You’ll nestle deep into the springs and make a home in the down. You’ll sleep there until you become it. Comfortable. Catatonic.

Frankie sips his coffee. He doesn’t look up from the email he’s skimming. “What’s wrong?”

The baritone of your boyfriend’s voice sucks you back to the present—to the tick of the clock marking the seconds, the whir of the fan. The paper crinkles as you lay it to your chest—big eyes feigning ignorance as you blink up at him, chewing your lip. “Hmm?”

“Baby, I know that face.”

“What face?”

“The one you’ve got on,” he replies, “that’s your ‘I’m-upset-and-I’m-trying-to-hide-it’ face.’”

“I-” you frown, “no it’s not.” Gingerly, you pat a hand around your temple, your cheek, as if you could see your expression through touch.

“Uh huh.” Frankie rolls his digit upon the mousepad, clicking and scrolling down the webpage, and your vision glazes over again—ugly thoughts fogging up the panels of your mind—

“You gonna talk to me about it?”

You blink, swallowing, “nothing to talk about.” You flap the paper, ironing out the pleats, and scan for that pesky paragraph you never managed to finish.

“Mhm,” he replies absentmindedly, bringing the mug to his lips and drinking with an all too obvious slurp.

“Really, I’m fine,” you say weakly. You’re not that convincing—you barely convince yourself.

“Sure, sweetheart. If you say so.”

He’s too casual; he’s letting it all go too easily and God, he’s gotten good at this—at coaxing the truth out of you. He doesn’t even have to try any more. He’s so kind and open and sincere, all he has to do is crack the door ajar—tempt you with an inch of space, with only a sliver of leeway—and immediately you want to plunge through it and chase after him, like a dog and a bone.

He makes you want to share; not because of what he says, but by everything he doesn’t—the welcoming gaps he leaves you with, the gaps you’re urged to fill. This happens every time—it’s pretty damn annoying, actually. You’re so miserably predictable. After three and a half years together, sometimes you think Frankie might know you better than you know yourself.

A scary thought—wonderful, too.

“I’m just-” You run a hand over your face, pressing into the bridge of your nose and you grunt, frustrated. Exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Frankie settles his coffee cup on the hill of his sternum, closing his laptop quietly. He swivels his head to you, hair mussing into the wall.

“Of anything in particular?” he asks, linen soft.

“No, yes—I don’t know,” you heave—an errant thing fluttering around in your chest as you fold the newspaper, letting it float to the floor with a splat. “It’s just-” you worry the inside of your cheek raw, fumbling with the blur of your emotions. You shake your head. “It’s just a bad brain day.” Your voice is small as you slump into him, letting your body go limp.

“I’m sorry I get like this. I’m okay—I’ll be okay,” you mumble, face burrowed into his arm. He smells summered, like sweat and heat and the promise of long days fading into even longer nights, and you take a heady drag, inhaling his scent.

You hear him sigh, stretching as he sets the mug and computer down on the side table. He shifts back to you, snaking an arm under your body as you coil your own around his center, hugging him close.

“You know, it’s alright if you’re not,” Frankie murmurs into your hair, planting a kiss at the crown of your head. “And you know you don’t have to hide from me when you aren’t.” His thumb finds your arm, the chewed nail bed scratching soothing circles along your skin.

Your gut somersaults, flipping and purring, and all you can do is press your lips to the cottoned shoulder of his tee shirt—the one with the holes in the collar and motor oil stain on the hem; all you can do is tighten your grasp, wringing around his cozy waist.

“And you know that nothing you say is gonna scare me away, right? I’m always going to be here for you.” Frankie gives your forearm a reassuring squeeze.

God, this man.

You nuzzle further into his chest—snuggled and swaddled in the safety of his warmth—and you mumble something incoherent, muffled against his relaxed body. His beard catches on your fly-aways as he dips to hear you better. “What was that honey?”

“I said,” you crane your neck, lifting out of his side, “you really are the ‘world’s best uncle’.”

A ripple of confusion twists over his features before you bat your eyes up to meet his, shooting a glance over to that exact phrase wrapping itself around the ceramic cup beside him.

You got stuck with it at some terrible white elephant exchange last Christmas. It’s fucking tacky and aggressively large—not even you - you, in all your caffeine dependency - can chug that much coffee fast enough in one sitting without it going cold— and neither of you have any nieces or nephews to speak of…

Naturally, it’s become your favorite mug.

Frankie barks out a laugh, his stomach flexing against your grasp. “Oh yeah? Is that all I am?” he smirks, a glint of mischievousness reflecting in his irises as he bores down at you.

You quirk an eyebrow, a coy tug blooming across your lips. “I dunno,” you drawl sweetly, “you going to prove me otherwise?”

His face is split into a grin now, wide and aching and unnecessarily endearing. His hair is a mess, wavy tufts jutting out every which way, and his eyelids are still puffy from what little slumber he was lucky enough to get in your hot, cramped apartment.

You really can’t keep putting it off—you need to buy an AC unit.

His focus dances from your eyes to your mouth, breath hitching as he watches you skip your tongue over the plush mound there. “I just might,” he growls playfully, maneuvering you onto your back with one broad swoop, pinning you to the bed.

He makes love to you like a man unburdened - untouched - by time. He fucks into you slowly, unhurriedly—at a pace that’s mind numbingly measured and patient. Frankie devastates you, dragging himself through your walls from head to hilt, letting you feel every ridge, every vein of him; filling you up so impossibly well—his thick cock sauntering in and out, and in and out again. Each roll of his hips makes you gasp, his blunt tip brushing against that deep, uncharted chasm within you that tempts you into oblivion. Your legs are locked around him, crossed at the ankles, and the perspiration at the pits of your knees slicks his sides.

Frankie’s palms dimple the fitted sheet as he brackets your head, burying himself into the crook of your neck. He moans—hot breath ghosting over the prickled skin there, babbling disjointed strings of guttural praise into your ear.

Fuck baby—fuck you feel good

How’d I get so lucky, how’d I-

God, you’re a— fuck

You’ve got the perfect pussy—made for me

Made for me, made for me, made for-

You turn your head and capture his mouth with your own, whimpering into him as he nips at your bottom lip and bites. You scrape your fingers through his scalp, pulling at his locks, and Frankie whines a tortured noise—giving an especially hard thrust that pries a yelp from your throat. He rears his head back, catching your gaze, a concerned line creased into his brow. “Y-You okay?”

“No- nono, yes Frankie. Again, right there,” you beg, lashes fluttering.

He darkens—the timbre of his voice made husky and raw as he drinks in the sights and sounds of you mewling for him, splayed and needy. “You like that?” Frankie drives into you again, sharp and searing as he bottoms out, the smattering of curls at the base of him soaked with your gloss. “You need it hard, baby? You want it rough?”

You whimper, clawing desperately at the nape of his neck. “I just—I just want you, all of you,” you pant as you hold his stare—the gorgeous, chestnut gleam of it—and the wordless expression that crests over his features makes you want to cry. The precious indent in his cheek, the stubble littering his jaw, his sculpted nose and clever lips, the sad rings under his eyes—the grooves he thinks you don’t notice, the grooves he tries to mask by always taking care of you, always putting you first, even when he shouldn’t.

Fuck, he’s so beautiful—he’s so beautiful you could weep.

“You have me,” he rasps breathlessly, bowing to meet you in a messy whirl of tongue and teeth before breaking away—forcing himself up off his hands and back onto his shins. He hooks an elbow under your knee, letting the other frame the outside of his hip. “I’m right here—you have me, you have me-”

Frankie’s hips are frantic now, pulsing in short, strong bursts as he grinds into you. He dips a hand to your center, pad of his thumb working erratic, sloppy flicks over the sensitive nub of your swollen clit. Your feet arch, the muscles there constricting as the tension in you mounts.

“Babe.” You’re whining now, vulnerable and shaking and fuck, you’re going to come apart—any moment now, any unbearable second, you’ll snap. “F-Frankie, baby oh god—”

You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes screwing shut as you shatter. Like a vase crashing onto kitchen tile, you break into a million jagged fragments. Your cunt seizes, legs spasming against him as he fucks you through your orgasm, and it doesn’t take long for the tight contractions of your heat to yank him right off that same ledge. The both of you—tumbling and fracturing into terrible, perfect shards—to be intermingled and scattered among each other’s glass pieces.

Indiscernible. The same.

When you glue yourself back together again, you will find parts of him there - here, within you - filling your jigsawed cracks like golden ore.

Frankie slips out of you with a squelch and a huffed groan, collapsing to the mattress in a panting heap. His cum dribbles from your apex and you shiver at the feeling of it—at the feeling of him, warm and wet and lingering inside you. He rests his cheek on your breast while you both catch your breath—rising, falling. Waxing, waning. Two pitter-pattering hearts beating in time.

The sheets have been sloughed, lazy and forgotten, to a crumpled pile on the wood floor and the steam once rising from the mug on the nightstand has long since disappeared. It’s too muggy for you two to be this entwined—his leg draped over you, a big arm slung across your belly—but neither of you dare move. Neither of you have the energy, never mind the desire.

The clock whispers in the morning quiet.

A new bird claims the branch the finch left—she sings now, roosting there in the birch.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur sleepily, drawing patterns into the valley of his spine, mapping out his freckles and moles and scars. “Thank you,” you say. Thank you for putting up with me, thank you for understanding me, thank you for listening even when I cannot speak. “I love you so much.”

Gently, silently, Frankie tilts his head, bristled hair peppering your flesh as he mattes your skin with his lips; laving along your breasts, across your clavicle and up the plain of your neck—each kiss a response, each kiss a truth.

You don’t have to apologize

You don’t have to thank me

I love you

I’m right here

I love you

tags:

@pedros-mustache @roxypeanut @frannyzooey @djarinsbeskar @read-and-rec @keeper0fthestars @krissology @greatcircle79

#frankie x reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie x you #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fic #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfic #hurt/comfort #triple frontier

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bellesque · 4 years

Text

One Kiss (Tom Hiddleston x Reader)

Also available on my AO3.

Rating: G Word Count: 2.5K Tags: Fluff, Best Friends to Lovers, you’re angey and tom calms you down Summary: Whenever one of you is upset, you and your best friend Tom head to your favorite ice cream parlor to vent and eat your feelings. Usually you feel better afterwards. For some reason, this time, a cone of your favorite flavor and a rant doesn't quite do the trick.

A/N: Hey y'all. Life's been keeping me busy, but I'm back with another Tom oneshot! This was inspired by a conversation I had with a friend about being calmed down by someone she likes. I hope you enjoy!

YOU’RE SEEING RED.

You grind your teeth, feeling the muscle in your jaw twitch as you stalk away. You knew not to engage, not to start fights with people unless you knew you could finish them, but this time they had crossed a line. The safest and smartest course of action for you right now is to literally walk away from it before you do something you regret.

You’re not sure where you’re going exactly. All you know is that you need to get away from Point A and get to Point B, wherever the hell that is.

Rounding the corner to get to your car, you huff at the memory of the things that were said about you. Of the things that were said to you. It all sends a fresh bout of roiling anger to pulse through your veins.

The car door swings open way too wide and you get into the driver’s seat, slamming the door with more force than necessary. You exhale, your eyes scanning your reflection through the rearview mirror. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes filled with cold rage, your mouth is pressed into a hard line. It’s only now you realize that you’re actually shaking—and then, without warning, you feel hot tears well up in your eyes.

Angrily you swat at your face, your eyebrows scrunching together in frustration. Damn it, why do you have to be an angry crier?

Taking a few shuddering breaths you manage to get your emotions under control, although the frustration still lingers like a gentle nudging.

You can’t stay like this forever. It’s in your nature to feel things and then let it pass, but it isn’t completely out of your system yet; you need to vent.

You try calling your closest friends (all 3 of them), only they’re all busy. It’s fine. You don’t hold it against them, knowing everyone has their own life to live. Only it bothers you a little to think that some of them simply brushed you off and changed the direction of the conversation.

Which leads you here, in the parking lot of your favorite ice cream place. You came here in the hopes of cooling off by buying yourself your go-to ice cream, except you’re short on cash. Which means no ice cream for you, and your irritation levels are still pretty high.

The interior of the car begins to feel suffocating as your mind stews in dark thoughts. You climb out and lean against your car, observing the vehicles passing by on the highway that stretches before you with your arms crossed and your expression sullen.

And then someone calls out your name tentatively.

“I didn’t order anything,” is somehow the answer that spills from your lips, and you don’t bother turning around to check if the person has left or not.

He comes into your peripheral vision, but you don’t look at him until he says, “I knew it was you!”

“Oh. Tom. Hi.” You hastily shuffle your features into a polite smile, an alien action considering you want to be doing anything but that. You’re still a little (considerably) mad.

Tom is an acquaintance to you, a friend of a friend who you met at a small social dinner. You haven’t communicated with him since you were introduced all those months ago. You’re surprised he even took the time out to say hello to you today, seeing as you’ve barely had any interaction with him. He could have easily just went about his day without sparing a second glance at you.

He shifts on his feet, hesitating, before he pulls you in for a half hug. As all awkward encounters go, you’re not sure what to do. You can sense him wondering if his hug of greeting is crossing any line so you make it a point to pat him on the shoulder, letting him know that it’s not a big deal. You’re even rather touched at the action; Tom has always been the portrait of a perfect gentleman, and though you barely know him, you know the kindness and concern he has for others is genuine. The man’s hugging you, all warm and amiable, for goodness sake.

“It’s nice to see you,” you say when you pull away.

Tom smiles, his chin dipping minutely in acknowledgment. “And you too. Did I hear you correctly earlier, did you really not get any ice cream?”

“Oh, uh…” You let out a sheepish laugh. “It’s… fine. It’s nothing. I just…” You look around the parking lot. “Like coming here for no reason…? Ha, no, actually I, uh, needed to let off some steam.” Your babble makes you cringe. Maybe it would have been better if Tom hadn’t stopped to be polite. It would have saved you from wanting the earth to swallow you whole right now.

There’s a subtle shift in the expression Tom wears as he studies you, so slight that you could miss it entirely—only he stands close enough for you to notice the concern in his eyes and the knitting of his brows.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” he says, and the sincerity in his tone almost kills you. “I should have seen that you wanted to be left alone. I hope things turn out alright.” He lays a comforting squeeze on your shoulder. “It was nice meeting you again. Hopefully I can see you another time under better circumstances.”

And before he can take three steps away from you, you call out to him. “Wait.”

You catch up to him and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I was being rude. I actually wouldn’t mind the company?” Your statement comes out like a question: a silent invitation for him to stay with you.

It’s ridiculous, you think at the back of your mind. An overstep, considering you just brushed him off earlier and he likely has other plans. But the way Tom simply beams at you, offering to pay for your ice cream (“You wouldn’t come here to just sit in the parking lot. My treat”) abates your aggravation by the smallest degree. You need a friend. He may not be the one you anticipated, but you’re grateful all the same.

He asks about your day and you find yourself pouring out your frustrations, being vague at the beginning until you’re telling him every little thing that’s happened today that went wrong. And he listens with patient understanding, his attention solely focused on you as he sympathizes and empathizes in all the right moments. It’s cathartic, the way you’re able to release everything through words, and Tom doesn’t interrupt you whatsoever. By the end of it, with your stomach full and your heart light, you realize that the afternoon with him was spent fixated on your woe-is-me ranting.

“You don’t deserve that,” you tell him afterwards. “I’m sorry for dumping all that on you. But I’m also really grateful, so, thank you.”

“Don’t apologize. I know what it’s like to need to let things out.” He gives you a genuine smile as you rise to your feet. “I presume now we’ll be keeping in touch?”

“Not just about this situation, I promise,” you grin. “But really—thank you. You really calmed me down.”

“Always happy to help,” he replies, his kind eyes crinkling, and you hug briefly—this time not awkward at all—before parting ways.

Over the next few weeks, you keep in correspondence with Tom. You learn about his work and he talks about his day and vice versa. You talk about your favorite movies, your favorite books, analyzing and exchanging theories. What once was mere acquaintanceship has blossomed into friendship, and you know it isn’t one-sided when Tom calls you, his voice nettled, and you immediately suggest to meet up at the ice cream parlor.

“But I mean,” you add, in fear of… something, you’re not quite sure, “only if you want to.”

“I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

And so it begins. The ice cream parlor becomes your unspoken sanctuary for when times get tough and one of you needs to get something off their chest. It’s a good friendship, you think, the fact that you’re there for each other in the hard times as well as in the best and goofy times.

You’re happy and content to have someone like Tom in your life. A constant, nonjudgmental, and low-maintenance friend. He isn’t there for just the times you need to vent, no, your friendship has turned out to be something wholesome. You find yourself seeking him out when you have something you want to share, be it something good or something bad, and almost always your mood lifts when you’re with him.

Which is exactly what you need right now.

It’s been a pretty bad day altogether: from the moment you woke up this morning it seemed as though everything was going downhill. You want to have a good cry, to scream and yell. So much has been building up inside you that you’re tired of fighting and you really just need your best friend.

Wow, he really has become your best friend.

It’s the middle of the night and you’re waiting in the ice cream parlor parking lot, a ball of angry energy. You’re pacing—something you don’t do very often—just to calm down a little.

It doesn’t help.

Tom arrives shortly, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. Good, because he knows you need this time to stew a little. Instead he makes a beeline for the ice cream shop’s interior, and he comes out with two cones in each hand. He hands one to you wordlessly.

“Go,” he says, and at the single encouragement you launch into a long-winded detailing of your day. You’re grateful that the shop’s not particularly busy today—your voice is taking on a pretty loud volume in the parking lot, rushed and strained and emotional. You expect to feel the calmness wash over you as soon as you’re finished with your story and your ice cream.

Only you’re still mad.

“Tom. Tom, I’m still mad,” you say, the urgency in your tone almost comical.

He’s thoughtful and quiet, sitting on the hood of your car. “Well, love, sometimes—”

“I don’t really need a speech right now,” you snap. Shit, this is bad. You’ve never once taken out your frustrations on Tom, but that’s also because usually some ice cream and yelling does the trick for you. You’re in foreign territory, and you don’t like it. “I’m sorry, I’m just super stressed.”

“I can see that,” he comments, his blue eyes fixed on you as you begin to pace again.

“It’s just—” You catch yourself before you can rehash everything you just told him. You round on him. “Tom, calm me down. Don’t talk me down, just…”

He rises to his feet, and you continue pacing. “Fuck, why am I so mad?” you hiss, mostly to yourself.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” You stop, raising your hands up in annoyance. “Distract me, anything to get my mind off it. You should be good at that, you’re supposed to be my best friend.” It’s not his fault you’re still nettled, of course it isn’t. You know that. But your emotions are getting the better of you, and everything is starting to spiral. You’re sure Tom is going to be upset with you after this. He doesn’t deserve this version of you. And so you begin to berate yourself, your anger now directed at you and your stupid tendency to—

Tom grabs you by the shoulders and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

All the fight from your body seems to dissipate at that very moment, and you stare up at him, dumbfounded. A warmth begins to spread across your body, and it’s not from the previous frustration you were feeling. Your best friend, Tom Hiddleston, he—

You blink. “Did you just—”

“Did it work?” he asks, his voice just barely above a whisper. His gaze is soft, tentative, scanning every inch of your face for any sign of emotion. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Dumbstruck, that’s what you are. You didn’t think something as simple as a forehead kiss would render such an effect on you. “Did it take your mind off things?”

“Y-you caught me off-guard,” you answer, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“Then I guess it did.”

Your cheeks are warm. Damn it, you never expected to be quieted in such a way. But he’s right—you’re no longer upset, but now all you can think about and obsess over is the way his lips gentled the roaring tigress in you.

You look back on all the times you spent together: how he’s been there for you, and you for him. Silly moments and silly photos. The fuzzy feelings you tried to quell whenever they’d come up. But now they’re here, at the fore of your consciousness, and you fidget.

What are the odds…?

“I’m still a little upset, though,” you say, your voice a little shaky as you take one step closer towards him. You’ve never felt this bold, your heart slamming against your ribcage. Looking up at him, seeing the wonder and longing in his eyes, you think—shit, you hope you’re not wrong—that you both are feeling the exact same way.

His arms settle around your shoulders. Safe, tentative, unsure. “Oh?” He brushes a lock of hair away from your face. Platonic? Could be, to some outsiders. But it’s the way he’s looking at you that gives you the confirmation you need. Here, in this moment, you’re in your own little bubble, the air that was once thick with frustration now thick with tension.

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Do you need another distra—”

You plant your hands on his shoulders and tiptoe, bringing your face to his and kissing him full on the lips to silence him. His arms snake around your waist, delighting you, and your fingers find themselves entangled in his gorgeous curls. It’s not how you picture first kisses to go, but it’s somehow exactly how you pictured kissing Tom would be like. Soft. Sweet. Like coming home.

You pull away, slightly breathless, and Tom rests his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he mutters, his eyes closed.

“Hey now, I kissed you,” you tease, giggling. His eyes open, and his grip around your waist tightens.

“Well, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” And he pulls you in for another kiss, just as sweet as the first. You think you will never get enough of this, if this is going to be your new life together. You didn’t realize how many romantic feelings you’ve suppressed, but now that they’re finally out in the open it only feels right. To be here, in his arms, in the parking lot of your favorite ice cream place.

You gently place your hands on his chest and your lips part. “I don’t think the staff would appreciate a makeout session out here,” you grin.

Tom’s hand finds yours, and he brushes his thumb over your knuckles before bringing them to his lips for a kiss. “You’re right. Another round of ice cream?”

“I’m in.”

#by belle #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston/you #tom hiddleston/reader #fluff #ice cream #oneshot

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smuttyfairy · 7 years

Text

When I Wake [ch.1]

ch.1 | ch.2 |

Genre: Angst / Fluff

Summary: The day you were proposed to by Kim Taehyung was absolutely unforgettable, but not in a magical, fairy tale type of way. Instead of ending the night with celebratory congratulations, you and Taehyung find yourselves in a car accident that leaves you in a coma. When you wake three years later, you receives news that Taehyung passed away as a result of his injuries.

After getting over the initial shock of Taehyung’s death, you peacefully carry on with your life, until one day you hear word that Taehyung might not be dead after all.

You try to find Taehyung to pick up your relationship where it left off, so everything could go back to the way it was. Only life’s not that simple. While trying to rekindle your love with the supposedly dead Taehyung, you have to deal with your arranged fiance and your newly acquainted (and dangerously hot) friend Park Jimin.

Your life becomes a whole lot more interesting when you wake.

Word count: ~2.3k

Written by: Admin Jifairy

A/N: So this is my first time writing a kpop ff, and it’s my first time writing a reader insert, AND it’s my first time writing angst so please bear with me~ (it’ll get interesting soon I promise) Also jimin & yoongi are tagged in addition to tae bc they will be part of the story later on!

Taehyung placed his lips on yours; it was the only warmth you’d felt in this winter wonderland. As he pulled away, you could feel every cell in your body yearn for his embrace but reluctantly settled for his hand in yours. You stood in the middle of the icy Bow Bridge in Central Park. It was where you two first met, three years ago.

Three years ago you were attending one of your father’s yearly charity events when you wandered off for some fresh air, away from the phony friendships and the nauseating smell of cologne and brandy that every male seemed to extrude.

Your father was a very rich and successful business man, so it became common for your father to hold these charity events. Anyway, as you were crossing the Bow bridge, a biker nearly ran into you, causing you to stumble backwards on your heels. Taehyung was crossing the bridge at the time, and being the gentleman that he was, he swooped in and prevented you from falling. You landed in his arms with such ease; your body conformed so perfectly to every inch of his, just like a missing puzzle piece. The moment was so picturesque that all you needed was a camera crew, and it could have been a scene from a cliché romance. When you looked up at your unnamed hero, you found yourself drowning in a pair of beautiful brown eyes. “Whoa,” he chuckled as he helped you regain your balance. “Are you okay?” You weren’t listening to a word he was saying, though. Your mind was filled with the color brown and how he seemed to make it the most romantic and desirable color God ever gifted the world with. “Are you alright?” He asked again when you failed to respond. His voice was so perfectly deep, it almost knocked you off your feet again. He stood nearly six feet tall with light brown hair that hung just above his eyebrows and a chiseled chin that led to perfection. He had a face that belonged on a Greek statue. You answered with a nearly inaudible, “Yeah, I’m…” your voice trailed off, left to hang in the silence. Your eyes were fixated so deeply on his that you were unable to finish your sentence. You had always been a ditz when it came to boys, and this one was no exception. But Taehyung smiled anyway, ignoring the idiotic look on your face. He was too busy admiring the way your adorable slender nose and full lips complimented your doey eyes. “I’m Kim Taehyung, and you are?” Taehyung introduced himself and began walking towards an empty bench at the end of the bridge, hoping you would follow. “Uh - I’m Y/N.” You choked out. After your encounter, you ended up getting to know a lot about him. He was born in Buffalo, New York and then moved to New York City when he was five. Apparently, Taehyung’s mother, Kim JangMi, was a mistress, and Taehyung is the product of an unfaithful husband and his behind-the-scenes lover. When Taehyung’s father, Kim YongSoo, found out JangMi was pregnant with him, his father cut off all ties with her and sent her to the states in order to keep people from finding out about his affair. After all, YongSoo was a well-known political figure who was also the CEO of a huge finance company. Every month, Taehyung’s father sends them living expenses and pays for everything they need. Taehyung’s mother never wants to use the money because she thinks it’s “dirty”, and she resents Taehyung’s father for sending her to the states without a second thought despite telling her he loved her. She hated having to rely on him after everything he’s put her through. But, reluctantly, she always accepts the money for the sake of providing Taehyung with the best. Soon, you became so captivated by the handsome seventeen year old boy who seemed to have taken a harmless interest in you. And that was the beginning of your innocent romance, completely unaware of its tragic fate. ••• Currently, you and Taehyung were gazing at the lake that had frozen over and now served as an ice skating rink. The air was crisp and cold as snowflakes kissed your bare skin. “Three years ago I met this strikingly beautiful girl with skin so porcelain and eyes so enchanting,” said Taehyung. “It was like looking at a glass doll; she was the epitome of perfection.” Taehyung stopped for a brief moment and turned to face you. He gazed into your beautiful eyes, adoring the effect they had on him. The way they could turn him into a babbling, love struck idiot. “Y/N, I can’t imagine life without you, and I don’t want to.” You smiled, “Trust me, you won’t have to. You’re stuck with me.” You’ve given three years of your life to Taehyung so far, and you don’t plan on remembering those three years as a waste of time. Taehyung smiled sweetly and retracted his hand from yours, taking away every bit of warmth with it. The cold nipped at your fingertips, sending your hand fleeing for your coat pocket. Taehyung reached into the pocket of his favorite Burberry coat and pulled out a small, black suede box before kneeling down onto the blanket of snow. Your hands flew to your mouth. You’d envisioned this moment at least a million times since you were a little girl, but to actually be able to put a face to the man of your proposal fantasy felt surreal.

Taehyung reached for your left hand and held it lightly in his.

“I know your parents are against us being together, and I know I don’t have much money of my own to support us,” Taehyung exhaled slowly, “but Y/N, will you marry me?” With you turning eighteen and becoming a legal adult, Taehyung decided it was time to finally pop the question. A smile stretched across your face. “Of course!” You exclaimed and opened your arms wide for his embrace. Taehyung jumped to his feet and held you so tightly, that if you really were like the fragile, glass doll he’d depicted you as, you’d shatter into a million pieces. Tears brimmed your eyes as you said, “God, I love you!” You smiled through your words. Then, you planted a passionate kiss on his lips before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, indulging yourself in his intoxicating smell. “I love you, too,” he whispered in your ear. Then he released you from his grasp and placed the ring on the hand that would soon belong only to him. The ring was a small, white diamond on a thin, plain band. It was simple yet elegant, and you couldn’t ask for anything better. You and Taehyung continued on your walk through the park. You were still on cloud nine thinking about the fact that you two were officially going to be together forever. Y'all were talking about eloping and leaving your families and fortune behind for love and happiness when you came across an area, secluded from other civilians, where the snow remained untouched; it was so beautiful, you were almost reluctant to touch it. But Taehyung had already taken a step into the virgin snow, imprinting his existence into the world. You made your way to a nearby bench. After you pushed off all the snow from the bench, you sat down. You leaned into Taehyung as he wrapped his arm around your waist. You two began reminiscing over all the memories you had together, both good and bad. You couldn’t help but think about all the arguments you thought you’d never recover from. And yet here you were, with his arm around your shoulder and a ring on your finger. You’d always hoped Taehyung would be the one you married, but you’d never imagined your dream would actually come true.

While reminiscing, you noticed three intimidatingly tall men in black suit pants and black overcoats briskly walking your way. “Oh, my God!” You exclaimed under your breath. “Tae, those three guys over there work for my family. They were probably sent to take me back home!” Up until last month, yours and Taehyung’s relationship was a secret. Only a select few knew you were dating. Taehyung’s mom knew about your relationship and adored you, but your parents didn’t know a thing. You knew your parents, your dad especially, would never accept an illegitimate child as their potential son-in-law. When your father finally found out, he continuously screamed that he would never allow you to date a bastard and that you are never allowed to see him again. Not to mention you already have a fiancé that your parents chose for you. He’s of wealthy background and is currently studying to be a doctor. You two have met very briefly a couple of times, but you weren’t supposed to marry him until you turned twenty. You didn’t want to marry someone you don’t love, however, and so you ignored his entire existence until you forgot about him all together. “Shit!” Taehyung responded. Without a second thought, he grabbed your hand and ran through the snow. It was a struggle for you to keep up with Taehyung, because he was five foot ten with long legs and you weren’t nearly as tall as him. You stumbled multiple times, but Taehyung always caught you before you fell. The men began running after y'all at full speed, closing the space between you by half. All you could think about was what would happen if you were separated from Taehyung, and why you couldn’t just be together peacefully.

“Why can’t they just leave us alone?” Taehyung shouted, wishing the men would turn into an unconcerned pile of snow. As you ran the familiar path back to the parking lot, Taehyung was careful not slip on ice. You finally made it to the car at last and slid in with ease thanks to Taehyung’s unhealthy habit of leaving the car doors unlocked. Taehyung revved up the engine and reversed out of the parking spot and onto the main road. The road lead to a more hill-y, rural area that was surrounded by trees. The men in black jumped into their nearby car and sped towards the exit in pursuit of you. The little mission of bringing you back home soon turned into a full-on car chase. With Taehyung pushing almost eighty miles per hour, he was in the lead, but not for long. Eighty doesn’t sound that fast, but when there is snow all over the road, and you can spin out of control at any given moment, it feels a helluva lot faster. Not to mention the sun was beginning to set, making it harder for Taehyung to see. The street lights began to illuminate the road that was being engulfed in impending darkness. “Tae!” You cried. You gripped the handle bar above your head tightly as your hands began to turn white from lack of blood flow. “Maybe you should slow down!” With a grunt Taehyung said, “If I do that, they’ll be able to stop us, and they’ll take you away from me. I can’t lose you!” There was genuine fear in Taehyung’s eyes. Fear of the unknown … fear of losing the most precious thing in the entire world to him. Suddenly, there was a sharp left turn in the road that Taehyung didn’t notice due to the lack of light. He turned his steering wheel almost 360 degrees; the wheels of the car slid across a sheet of ice, sending their car tumbling down a hill, hitting bushes and trees along the way. Taehyung tried to take control of the car by pressing the brakes and turning the steering wheel, but the acts were futile in a rolling car. You tried to scream with sheer terror, but the sound never made it past your lips; coarse puffs of air escaped instead. The sound of branches scraping against the car’s exterior filled your ears. The windows were being punctured by the branches, shattering them. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to see what was going to happen next. As the car continued to roll, your bodies were being thrown around like rag dolls. Everything was happening so fast, neither of you had time to process what was going on. The car took one last toll when it crashed head-on into a tree. For some reason, the airbags didn’t deploy, so Taehyung slammed into the steering wheel, earning a blast from the horn, and your face made excruciating contact with the dashboard. The force of the impact was so strong that it propelled you through the window, despite your constricting seat belt. Broken glass tore into your colorless skin. You were no longer a porcelain doll but a blood-stained rose. A searing pain shot through your right leg; it was like it’d caught on fire. You laid flat against the frigid ground, about fifteen feet from the car. Your limbs were haphazardly positioned and your face was buried into a pile of bloodied leaves and wreckage debris. Every inch of your body ached. You tried to sit up, but to no avail. The pain was so intense that you nearly blacked out. The most you could do was position your head so you could see the car out of your peripheral vision. Then suddenly, light filled the sky and the smell of burning metal filled your nostrils. The car had caught on fire. You weren’t sure if Taehyung had gotten out of the car or if he was still in there. Is he trapped? Unconscious? …Dead? “Taehyung,” you tried to scream, but once again the sound never reached your lips. The smoke from the fire blurred your vision and before you could attempt to call out his name once more, everything went black.

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